


The Circle is Broken

by vassilissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10472442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vassilissa/pseuds/vassilissa
Summary: When he was eleven, his eyes were the most majestic shade of blue.When he turned twenty-two, alone in an apartment somewhere in Paris, wine in one hand a cigarette on the other, he decided that Hogwarts was a dream, after all.If only he hadn't dreamt Hermione Granger. If only she was real.





	1. can you have belongings after a war?

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is sth new I'm trying. chapters will be longer sometimes. do keep an open mind at this type of writing, it has a point. thanks to everyone who has stuck by my writing x

> She cannot remember the exact moment his eyes turned grey, but she imagines it was Sixth Year, on that Astronomy Tower they used to study constellations after midnight.

* * *

Draco finds himself in his grandparents house back where it all started. Paris. This... _house_ \--it's his. _His_. 

It looks nothing like the Manor, everything like the Manor.

He will stay there until he turns twenty-three.


	2. he would say nothing and you would stay

**_Can you have belongings after a war?_ **

Can he have a father, the way he had him when he was younger? In all of his quiet disapproval of his childhood, in all the ways he was not there.

Could he have his mother back? The time where she would look out for him from that window, always from the inside, where he'd practice and practice this piece of magic he had been given.

Could he have his mother, when he was nine, with snot running down his nose, angry wrinkles on his forehead. Tears he will never shed, because he is a Malfoy and he'll be damned before he succumbs to weakness.

His mother's finger erasing the anger from his face at once. How it felt to have someone know him like that.

Can you have belongings after a war?

No. Not if he were on the wrong end of it. But he does get to keep the memories. 

The Before and the After.

He can build on them. 

Or he can move to France and never look twice at that newspaper. 

> He goes to her house, rests his palm against the wood of the front door, thinks about what to say, what has to be done. Decides he'd very much like to have those words written down for him, so it won't have to be so hard.
> 
> He never had to do a thing for himself. But he has to do this. He always could do this by himself.
> 
> He knocks--twice. Waits. She's not going to answer. She may not even be inside. The words are on the tip of his tongue. He's really going to do it; he's really going to ask her.
> 
> A minute passes. Draco hears footsteps.
> 
> She doesn't deserve this.
> 
> _"I want you to come with me."_
> 
> He never says this.

Hermione opens the door to find her neighbor watering her plants. It's spring. Afternoon.

She feels there's more, but she shrugs and goes back to bed. Ron waits with his arms open and his blue eyes the bluest she's ever seen them.

She feels there's more. Something better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 84 hits in not even a full day?? thank you so much you guys! i'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. i know it's still confusing and doesn't give much away, but there is a reason for that. you'll see! i just want to know if you like this style! x


	3. he floated in that dream, sleeping on the water, as if that could be possible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again more of a prose chapter. I'm being vague for a reason though. feedback would be appreciated x

He would say nothing and you would stay.

It would be cold and you would not be dressed for the weather and he'd say nothing, but he'd hand you his coat.

She often wondered how a relationship like the one they had could work, but found no answers.

That happened. Not having answers when concerning of him. Draco would tell her himself, the few times he spoke at those secret meet ups.

The Pureblood that had no answers. Not after the war. 

At first, she'd leave. Sitting there and doing nothing? After what he said to her? Sitting there and having no words after promising her he had so much to say?

Oh, she'd leave.

But then he grabbed her wrist that one night, and looked at her with those silver eyes that had smudged moonlight in the corners of them, and he'd say nothing and you would stay.

And staying would mean so much afterwards. In Paris. When he'll remember her, with the words he promised her on the very front of his mind.

They left a metallic taste, these words. They shouldn't. 

They did.

* * *

 

You looked for him in the AM. When you couldn't sleep. When it was cold. When Ron's coat would be too big on you, but Draco's would _feel_ just right.

For a boy who wouldn't shut his mouth for a single second when he was younger, Draco Malfoy became quite the mute after Sixth Year. His platinum blonde hair were wavy in a way Hermione has never seen, falling across his forehead like a halo, and the words that would never be spoken would keep her thinking for hours.

But that was a different time. Now it's three in the morning and you can't sleep. You think of that knock on your door. 

You think you missed something. Again and always.


End file.
